Touch
by Daywahyn
Summary: Touch can be a powerful conduit for emotion. Of course, I don't own these characters. J.K. Rowlings does.


Touch

by Daywahyn

Chapter 1

"Don't touch me." His voice was grated and harsh as he spun away from her as quickly as he could manage. His head was already beginning to swim a little.

"But you're hurt. There's a lot of blood here and if we don't stop the flow, you'll likely bleed to death."

"That's the point, you stupid girl," he hissed, still retreating. He managed to back through the door into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place and was now stuck against the solid plank table.

Hermione was getting more than a little frustrated with her unwilling patient. How dare he show up here damaged and then refuse to allow her to help? "Severus Snape, if I have to Stupefy you to keep you from bleeding all out, I'll do it." She raised her wand, menacingly. His struggle lessened but did not cease.

Severus knew the effects of the potion Voldemort had force-fed him. Much the same way as he knew the intended outcome of the knife wound in his back and anti-coagulant hex. He'd brewed the _Ipsemet_ serum for his lesser master before and watched, half appalled, half relieved when it was administered to another. He figured it would only be a matter of time before he ingested that particular brew himself. Voldemort was enough of a twisted fuck to make you forge the blade he'd skewer you with. Nothing for it. Hermione Granger, Squeaky-Clean Extraordinaire, was the last person he was showing his "truest self." He was perfectly prepared to bleed to death first.

His mind was beginning to cloud from lost blood so he latched on to that bit of coherency with his whole being. NO. GRANGER. NO. TOUCH. NO. SKIN. NO.

"Godammit, Granger. Just leave me alone." His breath was coming in short hiccoughy gasps.

"I can't," she said quietly, wand still trained on him. "Stupefy." She said the hex so softly; it almost took him by surprise. Almost. Snape's body went rigid and the pained look in his eyes made her feel worse than she'd thought she would when she cast. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you'd rather help come from anyone but me. Well, maybe not Harry," she laughed, admittedly a little hysterically, as she lowered his form to the floor by his sleeves. He was a tall man and heavier than she's imagined. Blood was still pooling under him and she yanked open the buttons of his robes. "I just can't stand by and watch you die. Not after all you've done."

_Then walk away,_ he thought. _Who asked you to watch?_ But his body remained stiff. Being Stupified always made him think of rigor mortis and he shoved that thought away from him as violently as it came. Granger, _Hermione _his mind supplied, was pulling at the buttons on his frock coat and tugging, ungently, on his outer clothing. He was woozy and exhausted and faint and couldn't quite keep up with what was going on outside of his body anymore. A new sensation roused him a little and he registered the cool tile under his cheek. She must have rolled him onto his stomach.

Hermione tugged the blood slicked garments up as far as she could and still could not find the blasted wound. The Stupefy kept his arms rigid at his side and she couldn't pull the layers of wet black fabric off. Finally, with a huff of exasperation, she stood and rummaged in the drawers of the kitchen and returned with a knife. She ignored the sharp intake of air from Snape. Holding the fabric of first his robe and then his coat up off of his skin, she slit them up the back and pushed them out of the way. The linen of his shirt was red and brown and stuck to his back. As carefully as she could, she pulled it up out of his trousers and, slicing a bit of the edge with the knife, then ripped it from tail to collar. All the while, she muttered oblique apologies under her breath.

The wound was deep and blood was pouring from it as if it were fresh, thanks to Voldemort's brilliance with malicious hexes. Hermione tried four different spells before realizing exactly how resistant to magical healing the cut was. She closed her eyes.

"I'm going to try something. Please, just trust me." Her voice was raw with something like desperation.

Severus felt a soft compress pressed hard against the wound and, judging from the weight of it, he assumed she was holding it in place with her knee. The pain from the pressure cleared his head a little and he struggled against the cellular binding of her hex. He could see Hermione, just barely, as she raised the knife and slid the blade across the palm of her own hand. Blood, bright and vivid, streamed down her wrist and he gasped a little; though whether it was from the sight of her blood or the sudden removal of weight from his back, he couldn't say. She was chanting now, something rhythmic and soothing over her bloodied hand. He couldn't see her clearly anymore but could feel the heat of her jean clad knee pressing into his side and the near warmth of her body bending over his to reach the spot between his shoulder blades. Then, searing cold, freezing heat, droplets of fire and ice and agony and ecstasy spattering from her self bloodied hand to his wounded back. His mind screamed inside his head begging her to stop and, oh Merlin please, don't stop, all at once. Severus could feel where drops of her blood had fallen on his cursed injury. Magic tingled in his skin as her blood, freely given, mixed with his. Within a few minutes, his bleeding slowed and Hermione was able to charm the cut closed with her wand. His head begin to clear. She was still chanting something he didn't recognize and didn't quite understand. The Stupefy had worn off and he slowly, painfully rolled away from her, onto his back. His eyes flicked up to hers just as she laid her hand on the exposed skin of his hand. With a visible jolt, her eyes went wide and then rolled back. He grabbed the sleeve of her jumper and pried her hand away from his. As he flung it back towards her, she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Shit."


End file.
